Taking a gulp of wine from the glass, Menecrow glanced at the two in patience. Giving his rough face a rude scratch, he eyed both of them in turn before taking his turn in the conversation.

"M'lady, I have several other methods that prevail over muscle for detainment. You shall have no fear of that. But I agree with the fool, pitiful as it may sound, we need perhaps a bit more information." Nodding his head to Darion, Menecrow continued. "And it is to my utter delight that the fool learned to call me by my proper herritage. I thought it would take more time."

Unable to hold back the amusement from his voice Darion simply sat back and shook his head laughing. "At least we will not be at a loss for humor in our adventure." Fearing that Menecrow would again miss the sarcasm in his comment Darion decided it best not to inquire about his herritage. "Let us be on our way, I grow tired of this place."

"If you must know, the man stole a rather large emerald. While its not as expensive as some other jewels I own. I am rather fond of the star patterning in the gem." Cymri lied facilely. It was to her best advantage for the men to think the Star Emerald was hers. "Mostly, I want it back because I dislike being made a fool of. Michel was my servant, I do not take it lightly when my trust is betrayed." she finished with a slight glare at Darion and Menecrow.

Cymri took another sip of her wine, then pushed the half full glass to one side. Standing up, she reached over Darion to get her cloak. She threw the cloak haphazardly around her shoulders and tossed a couple of coins on the table. Turning back towards the men still seated at the table she interjected, "Darion is right. Come on. Time's a wasting." With those words, Cymri stalked out of the tavern towards the stables.

The two men stared at each other for a moment. Then both headed outdoors in resignation. As they rounded the corner towards the stables, they were treated to the ear-piercing shrieks of Cymri shouting, "What do you mean my horse is not here. If you do not find my horse and bring her back immediately; I will strip your hide and make shoes out of it."

"Yet another example of the high caliber of people in this town." Darion shook his head muttering to himself, "So much for peace and quiet."

Rounding on the old fellow apparently running the stable Darion took on a forceful tone. "Don't just stand there with your mouth open you twit, who took the horse and where did he go?" As the man began tripping over his own words Darion spoke in a more quiet tone toward Menecrow. "The fool probably sold the horse himself."

"I would not doubt it, fool's do make such stupid mistakes." Menecrow replied, placing the stress of his accent on the word fool. "Alas, it has been days since I have had some fun, and I crave to practise my skill's, and maybe see what techniques Master Darion and my honourable lady Cymri here prefer." Stroking the sharp blade of the twin throwing axes, a thin drip of Menecrow's blood streamed from a cut freshly sliced across his fingers. Menecrow thought the stablemaster got the idea, between threats laid by Cymri, Darion and himself. And it was evident he did, with the flourished bows that contrasted with his nervous shaking. Promising to provide the best stallions he could offer, the man yelled at the stable hands to sort out the issue, all the while glancing around in a worried manner.

As Menecrow glared at the man, a grunt from Darion shifted his view. Behind them, four large hired men started walking towards the Stable Master and Menecrow's comrades, all possessing the angry stare that the majority in this town seemed to enjoy. Menecrow had no doubts about their intentions, obviously the Stable Master had no problem with giving these strangers some trouble before sending them on their way.

Time did not pass as quickly as one would have thought, for it was still just passing into the newday, with the morning still as baclk as the night, yet the moon still waned, as its light ever so slowly diminshed. Patting Lightfoot, a repeated thought ran through his head every tme he aptted the mare, this truly was good steal, the mare turly was extraordinary.

Fallorian stared into the sky, sitting on a decaying log for a seat. looking at the stars it reminded him of his package. reaching into his belt pouch, he took out the Emerald. Holding the Emerald in two fingers in front of him, he examined it closely. The Jewel was a rich green, and its transparency caused its finely cut edgs to glint when the light caught it. There was somethng familiar about it, then suddenly a thought struck him. Reaching for his Long sword, he pulled it free of the scabbard that rested on his back. Holding both blade and Emerald in front of him, he looked to the Ruby and Lapis Lazuli set into the base of the blade, one above the other, and they were all of same size and cutting. Oddly he noticed that the blade seemed to have a little dent above the ruby. Stuying the Emerald, he decided to see if it wuld fit into the dent just like the other precious stones. To his surprise the Emerald fit in perfectly. The sword then began to resonate a thin light on its edge, as he held it in both hands. This really was unbelievable, he must get back to his father and tell him as soon as possible. Haphazardly kicking mud over the fire, he carelessly packed his stuff away, it did not amtter now whether a tracker could foolow him, he had to make his way home fast.

Springing into the Saddle on Lightfoot, he dug his heels into the mare's sides, as the mare sparng away at a thundering pace, he felt as though the mare sensed his urgency, but he quickly put the thought to the back of his mind, concentrating on reaching home, for he was already half way there.

The stable master's hired hands swaggered thier way over to Darion and his party. Two caressed the hilts of rather large belt knives and the other two carried large crude clubs resting on broad shoulders. All four men were very large, it a bit on the chunky side. The shortest stood a hand taller than Darion and half again as wide. Evey one looked as is they had been roused out of sleeping off the nights ale.

Darion shot Menecrow a quick glance and a grunt, as if telling him to pay attention before stepping in front of Cymri. "I assume you four came to inquire about which horse the Lady might like as a replacement? Mine is the tall black stallion, you will bring him out here, now." Darions comments did not seem to have any effect on the four men who were obviously used to getting thier way by simply staring down at people. The two in the rear were now tapping thier clubs anxiously in the palms of thier hands as if expecting a scuffle.

"I don't like the threats you scum!" Came the old mans voice from the rear. "I'll not have it, the Lady's horse is gone, now you be gone as well!"

Both of the men standing closest to Darion now had firm grips on thier belt knives, ready to draw them and go to work. Darion stood defiantly before them with a firm grip on the hilt of his sword.

"You will bring me my horse, and answer our questions about the man you say stole the Lady's mare. I'd rather not have to kill your men to get those answers, but if I must it won't cause me any lost sleep." Darion's tone was flat and as cold as ice, his eyes never wandered from the men grasping their belt knives. The two in front he could take easily, is necessary, it was keeping Cymri from taking a blow to the head that worried him. The men before him began to shift as if feeling a bit uneasy, however, they neither moved or spoke, plainly waiting for a command from the elder man.

Undaunted by the four large men standing there, Cymri attempted to push past them into the stables. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, I wish to see what is going on inside." She pushed right through the first two men grabbing their daggers. Cymri stepped delicately right on their boots while the two men stared at her in disbelief. However when she tried to pass the two men holding their clubs, she may have well tried to walk through a brick wall.

"Where d'ye think yer going, lassie?" the taller and uglier of the men snarled. Spittle dripped from his misshapen mouth. The man reeked of cheap whiskey and unwashed flesh.

Cymri sniffed delicately as she tried to pass him. "Let me through," she stressed. "I wish to see what is going on in the stable for myself." When the man didn't budge at her words; Cymri lifted up a delicately booted foot and stomped on the man's instep.

To her suprise, the man did not even blink. Instead, with brute force he hoisted Cymri up and hefted her back towards her friends. Sitting ungracefully on her bottom, she pushed her disheveled hair back and glared at the burley man. The group of men began laughing at her discomfort. "Did ye see the look on her face, Sam... Fun to see a hoity toity lady gets what fer., Jon..."

Her anger rising, Cymri rose quickly to her feet. Taking a few steps back, she placed herself slightly behind Darion and Menecrow. Arms akimbo, she flashed a black look at the group of assembled men in the stable. Just at that moment, a bolt of lightening struck right next to the spot where the ugliest man stood.

Riding hard now over a grassy country, Fallorian's head whipped around when a bolt of Lightning flashed behind him. He struggled to think how a lightning bolt struck when there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Then it came to him, someone seems to be in a bit of a Temper and has let out their fury, probably another frustrated apprentice mage who lost control, he had seen that before, and at times it had a devastating effect. Still, he pushed on, there was no time to ponder, although the lightning came form the direction he had just left.

Soon he thought, it would be good to be home once again. He was eager for two things, the first to find out the significance of the Emerald, and secondly to see Serlina, a pretty girl in his village, who he had been too shy to say two words to, but enjoyed looking at her. The wind whistled in his ears, as his heart beat quickly, the speed was exhillarating, and at this pace he would be home in no time. A few more hours he said to himself, be patient, yet the lightning came back to his mind, could it have been the Mage who owned the Emerald who was angry, best not to think about it.

Menecrow leapt back from the lightening bolt, cursing loudly at the surprise. Not competely sure how the lightening came, he did have a good suspicion of who might of been behind it. Grabbing his throwing axes out from his weathered leather belt, he clutched both in each hand as he leap over the charred body, still alive but in pain. The smell of burnt skin was exciting, and Menecrow would not be left out of the fun. Distantly, Menecrow heard the ring of Darion's sword being drawn and his footsteps following Menecrow, but Darion's attention was towards the man with a club.

The man Menecrow came upon was still shocked from the lightening bolt, and did not fully notice the others until Menecrow took a brutish swing towards his neck. Moments before the steel met flesh he awoke from his daze and jumped back, only to draw his knife and charge at Menecrow. Dancing to the side of him Menecrow countered his swift strokes of his knife with his right handed axe, while with the left handed, he offered several small wounds among the man. Menecrow did not favor quick deaths; he very much preferred making them worthwhile and agonizing. His skills were an art, and the hired man his blood canvas. A good period of time passed before the man was to exhausted to give back a decent fight, so Menecrow forced himself to relent. Without proper healing, the man would not survive the week, and Menecrow knew that healing in this town was limited.

Darion stood over the bodies of two dirty men with large clubs laying beside their lifeless bodies. He wiped the length of his blade, on one of the fallen men before sliding it back into it's scabbard. He stood for a moment scratching his chin and watching Menecrow dance around in a circle with a third man, apparently enjoying himself. Looking back toward Cymri, who was still staning where he had left her, a rather unpleasant look on her face.

Giving Menecrow a final look to make sure the man wouldn't get a knife in his ribs, Darion walked over to where the fourth man lay on the ground moaning. The left side of his body was bare and slightly charred, his clothes burt away by the lighting bolt. Giving Cymri a sidways look he muttered. "Unfortunate accident."

Shaking his head Darion walked over to Cymri, " It appears our stable master has wondered off." Pointing to the moaning man on the ground he added. "Let's leave this one to suffer, if he survives it will be a reminder that he should walk the straight and narrow. In the future it might serve you better to allow Menecrow and I to deal with folk like this. Had one of them decided to put his dagger in you we'd not be having this conversation, now . . . are you injured?"

Carefully brushing off her skirts, Cymri tsked at a small tear in her clothes. She stared at the damage for a moment, mumbling to no one in particular, "Barely away from home and already look a mess."

After straightening her clothes, Cymri frowned at Darion. The man had no right to scold her. Scowling as best she could, Cymri was about to give him a piece of her mind when she remembered that Darion's presence would be useful. Doing her best to smile pleasantly she replied through gritted teeth, "I am unharmed. Thank you for asking."

In a flash of twirling skirts, Cymri turned around and marched back off to the stables. With casual disdain she walked right over the fallen men. Calling out to Menecrow she said, "Could you help me pick a horse that would be good for our travels."

Barely suppressing a smile for Cymri's stalking about Darion followed her to the stable and stopped in from of the entrance. "Lady Cymri, did you mention that you mount threw a shoe? There are tracks here leading toward the road that speak of such an animal. We could track the thief and recover your horse, if you wish."

Torn between immediately searching for Michel and finding her stolen horse, Cymri is forced to make a quick decision. She knew that the horse couldn't have gone too far missing a shoe. Thinking quickly, Cymri decided to "borrow" a black gelding that was still saddled. "Careless men," she muttered to herself while mounting. "They lose my horse and don't treat any in this stable properly. This one's probably been in here still saddled for hours." Kicking the horse's sides, she cantered out of the stables still talking to herself, "If my horse is the slightest bit harmed by the thief. I will give him to Darion and Menecrow for target practice."

Waiting for Darion and Menecrow to mount up, Cymri spotted a man staring at her from the dark shadows of the tavern's walls. Intrigued by his direct glance, she rode her horse a few feet to where he stood. She fingered a hidden dagger casually while inquiring, "Can I help you, sirrah?"

The man stepped out of the shadows, and the lady saw that he was an elf, his hair was blond but his eyes wer dark, he was tall and an ominous presense seemed to surround him, he smiled at the woman on the horse and said "No thankyou, i'm just fine" his voice was light yet masculine and he had a starnge look in his eye.

Whilst riding, Fallorian noticed that Lightfoot limped sligthly. Well the mare did not limp, but rather tilted to the side every second step. Reigning her to a halt, Fallorian sprung of the horse nimbly to bend down beside it and see what is wrong with it. Upon checking the mare's hooves he noticed that one of the hooves was missing a shoe and cursed himself. "Argh i forgot to actually get the shoe ftted before i left. Don' worry there when we get back il get you a whole new pair of the finest shoes from the finest smithy in the village" he told the mare patting its nose. To his surprise the horse nuzzled his palm as though acknowledgeing the offer. Remounting the mare, he decided that he should slow the pace down a bit for he had made much headway anyway. Light on the horizon slowly grew stronger. I'll make home by early morning he thought to himself, and with that continued his journey.

Menecrow followed Cymri, and although he had come to the town on his feet, he did not complain at having the chance to steal a horse for himself. Knowing Cymri's attitude currently towards horsethiefs, Menecrow decided not to mention that he would be borrowing anothers. Picking out a well muscled grey stallion, Menecrow strapped his crossbow to the saddle and mounted, searching through the prior owners saddle bags to steal a bit of silver and a small, plain hunting knife before throwing the remaining items away. Truth be told, Menecrow prefered to use his feet when travelling, but he knew he would never keep up with the party on foot. Not to mention that Menecrow did not have a particular fondness towards the creatures, but he still retained many horse skills gained from his boyhood years.

Riding towards where Cymri stood, Menecrow stopped the grey stallion a couple paces behind Cymri. With a loud and vile curse clearly heard throughout, he spat to the side of him while glaring at the elf. Menecrow waited though, and let Cymri talk to the stranger. 'Maybe some fun could come out of this situation just yet.', thought Menecrow silently, laughing to himself.

Reigning his Back Stallion in with the others Darion had to pull away slightly to keep his mount from biting the Gray the Menecrow had procured. Giving the newcomer a passing glance he edged his way up next to Cymri. "The thief has at least an hour on us, we should go now before the trail goes cold. I'd guess he's headed to one of the small villages around these parts."

Twisting in his saddle to check his bags and blanket roll, as well as make sure his unstrung bow and quiver were secured, Darion took in Menecrow. Looking a bit uneasy in a saddle and shooting daggers at the Elf. Pulling a feathered shaft from his quiver Darion slapped Menecrow's Gray on the neck to get his attention. Nodding towards the Elf Darion spoke behind a raised eyebrow. "A friend of yours?"

Getting no more than a grunt out of Menecrow Darion started off down the street to see which way out of town the tracks led.

The black gelding snorted and attempted to rear. Obviously he wasn't happy with the company around him. Too many new horses and people. With a quick pat on the head and a few encouraging words by Cymri, the horse was soon under control.

Edging as close as she could to Darion's stallion, Cymri kept the nervous horse under control. Since he knew where to go, she did not want to get separated from him. Darion, Menecrow and Cymri took a desolate dark road leading out of town. She could barely make out the trail that Darion saw so clearly. To her surpise the elf followed the small party on-foot behind them. What could he possibly want with anyone in the group?

Keeping a close eye on the trail left by Cymri's stolen Mare Darion pushed the group hard. If the thief was not expecting pursuit they could catch up to him by nightfall at this pace. The occasional glance over his shoulder showed Cymri and Menecrow not far behind and the Elf they had encoutered outside of the Inn was keeping up remarkably well on foot about a half a mile or so behind them.

Following the trail off of the raod Darion reigned him to a halt and dismounted. "It appears our thief made a small camp here." Darion said pointing to the remains of a campfire. "From the looks of it he is alone, and left here in a hurry. I'd guess he left no more than two hours ago, heading west over those plains. The sun is coming up, the trail should be easy to follow even through the country side."

Standing from his examonation of the hoofprints Darion swung back into his saddle. "Menecrow, do you live in these parts? I ask because whoever we chase must be heading towards some village or town. Do you know of one near here?" With an urging tilt of his head Darion led the party out over the grassy plain, once again following the prints, and waiting on Menecrow's answer.